Taming Reid: A Sexy Billionaire Romance

By J. Margot Critch

In a city where the air seems to breathe desire, Lila Campbell is taking matters into her own hands. She’ll tame Reid Rexford—one wild, wicked night at a time. The first book of J. Margot Critch’s Miami Heat miniseries.

Influencer Lila Campbell works damn hard to make her life look easy—posh celebrity-filled parties, luxe hotels, exotic travel and a following of millions. One public mistake could implode everything she’s built. Which is exactly why Lila shouldn’t be tempted by a mouthwateringly gorgeous stranger in Miami’s South Beach. Bad idea. Bad, bad…and too deliciously good to resist.

It’s just for tonight. Just long enough to put Lila in the world’s most compromising position when she finds out that her dishy one-nighter is Reid Rexford. Co-owner of one of the most sought-after rum distilleries in Florida—and a businessman whose ice-cold professionalism is the only thing that can control the smoldering heat when their bodies touch…

Reid doesn’t trust easily. And he sure as hell doesn’t buy into the idea that Lila has the power to turn Rexford Rum into an overnight success. He’s the sexiest, most stubbornly infuriating man Lila’s ever met. And she’s hooked.

Step into stories of provocative romance where sexual fantasies come true. Let your inhibitions run wild with Harlequin DARE.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlequin
• Release date: Jun 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781488062186

J. Margot Critch

J. Margot Critch graduated from Memorial University with a BA in Religious Studies and Folklore. She currently lives in St. John’s, Newfoundland, with her own romance hero, Brian, and their little fur buddy, Chibs. A self-professed Parrothead, when she isn't writing steamy contemporary romance and romantic suspense, she spends her time listening to Jimmy Buffett music and watching the ocean, all the while trying to decide if it's too early to make margaritas.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

REID REXFORD RAISED the glass to his lips and tasted the amber liquid it held. Up until that moment, the tres leches cake had been the best thing he’d tasted that night, but his cleaned plate lay forgotten on the table next to the unlabeled bottle of rum that Gemma had brought. They were preferred customers at the Cuban restaurant owned by his close friend, Arlo. And for a good deal on Rexford Rum for his restaurant, Arlo gave them a great table every time they came in and allowed them to do such things as open their own bottle of Gemma’s newest concoction at their table.

Reid took another small sip, and this time held it in his mouth, rolling the rum around, savoring the intricacies and the layers of the flavor on his tongue. It was smooth, delicious. He tasted it again, as his brother Quin did the same, this time taking a moment to inhale over the rim of the glass, pulling the scent into his lungs—it was dark, sweet, but spicy, with notes of cardamom, cinnamon, and something else he couldn’t yet place. It was absolutely exquisite. He winked at his sister. She had really outdone herself this time.

Well? Gemma asked, her eyes wide with anticipation for their opinions. How does it taste?

He shrugged casually. It’s pretty good, he said, putting the glass down. A clatter from the kitchen briefly muted their conversation.

Reid looked at Quin, who drank from his glass again and also put on a casual demeanor in an attempt to needle their younger sister.

Gemma’s smile dropped. And Reid knew her well enough to tell that their nonchalance clearly annoyed her. Come on, guys, she said. "This is one of the best batches I’ve ever made, and you both know it. What do you mean, it’s just good?"

Reid laughed, and put a hand on her shoulder, shaking her lightly. He knew how important the quality of her rum—and his opinion of it—was to her as she’d meticulously worked on the recipe for months, perfecting the proper blend of spices, making sure it would be just right before it had even been mixed, distilled and barrel-aged. The bottle they were tasting was a product of her love and dedication that had been more than five years in the making. We’re messing with you, Gem. It’s delicious! You’re right—one of your best yet.

She smacked his shoulder, took the glass from his fingers and sipped it herself. His sister’s satisfied smile spoke volumes to Reid. Gemma, a perfectionist, who was rarely fully satisfied with the finished product, was proud of her newest rum.

How’d you make it? Quin asked, pouring a little more from the bottle into his glass.

The short answer is I cut the cane sugar with honey and then added more later in the process, and I used those cognac barrels I picked up in France last year. Plus a few more special touches here and there. She winked.

Honey? Reid started calculating cost per bottle formulas in his head as he swirled the glass in his hand, watching as the legs of the liquid—thick and rich—trailed down the sides. Sounds expensive, he noted with a frown, recalling the recent high price of honey.

Probably, she said, with a shrug. But you’re the numbers guy, I’m just the cook. She wasn’t just the cook; she was their master distiller. She’d trained for years—since before she was even legally allowed to drink rum—to be as good as she was, and Reid was more than proud of her. It might have been his business savvy that had elevated Rexford Rum Distillery, and Quin’s marketing expertise and networking that had had made the exclusive luxury brand popular and well-known, but it was Gemma’s rum that had put them on the map, making them a premium spirit to be found in the collection of every rich and powerful man and woman in the country. But, if it helps, she continued, it’s specialized enough, given the fact we only had six cognac barrels, that it’s a very small batch. We can raise the price even more. Put it in a funky bottle, make it a luxury item. Drive up demand. You know our customers; they’ll want it if they think the next guy can’t get it. Quin will put the perfect spin on it in marketing, and we’ll make oodles of money.

Solid plan, Quin said, draining his own glass in celebration with a smile on his face.

Reid knew they were both correct. All right, email me the ingredients and quantities you used, and I’ll start crunching some numbers tomorrow.

I’m taking tomorrow off, so I’ll get it to you first thing on Monday morning. When he looked at her, she raised her hands. Dude, I work enough hours during the week that I can take a Friday off every once in a while. You should do the same.

Fine. He turned to Quin, always in business mode, even when they were supposed to be having a quiet, leisurely dinner together. We’ll get started on a marketing plan, and we can launch in the summer.

On Monday, Quin clarified.

So, you’re all taking Friday off, then?

Yup. Thursday night is the new Friday night.

Fine. On Monday, Reid agreed, knowing he wouldn’t win the battle.

He turned back to Gemma, already formulating a game plan. How will the batch have aged by summer?

It’ll be perfect. She plucked her phone from her small purse and smiled when she looked at the screen. I’ll send you that list first thing in the morning, but for now, I’m out of here.

You have plans? Reid asked.

Yeah, I have a date. Unlike you, I do have a life outside of rum, you know. I haven’t given up on all of my wild ways, she said with a wink.

The allusion to their past lives made Reid cringe. In their younger years, the three of them had spent a lot of time at nightclubs, at parties, while their parents worked at making Rexford Rum, the business that had been in their family for generations, a well-known brand. But overnight, their lives had changed with the death of their mother, and their father had stepped back from business. It was then that Reid and his siblings had realized it was up to them to keep the business going if they wanted Rexford Rum to stay alive. He’d had the most complete turnaround, abandoning his raucous lifestyle, settling down, getting married—as well as that had worked out for him—while his brother and sister, as devoted to the business as they were, still managed to find lots of time to have some fun.

And you know what, I’m wondering why you guys don’t have anything lined up for yourselves tonight.

Who says I don’t? Quin shrugged a shoulder. The night is still pretty young for me, lots of time to round up some female company.

You’re such a romantic, Gemma said, rolling her eyes.

Reid felt his sister’s gaze settle on him. How about you, big brother? Any hot plans tonight?

Gemma— He’d planned on crashing on the couch with a drink and watching the game, but the unlabeled bottle of rum on the table had changed that. The thought of heading down to the office and planning the new release and cost calculations had his fingers tapping on the table. When it came to passion, the distillery had replaced everything else in his life.

"I know, you’re busy, she countered, using the words he’d said many times against her. She pursed her lips as she studied him and tilted her head to the side. When was the last time you were on a date?"

When the urge struck him, which, honestly, wasn’t often, Reid had no problem finding women, those who, like him, weren’t interested in a drawn-out affair, but an actual date? Where he sat across from a woman, and they talked and got to know each other? He poured another finger of rum into the short glass and brought it to his lips. You know when, he said, grimacing behind his glass, before he took a large swallow.

He could feel his sister’s exasperation at him. That was over two years ago, Gemma told him—like he didn’t know—shaking her head. Carolina did a number on you. But you can’t be alone your entire life because of one mistake.

He looked at her. "That one mistake almost cost us everything. I’m not going to let it happen again. So could you just get off my back already?"

That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t see any women ever again, she told him. When he said nothing, she kept going. Two years, Reid. What happened wasn’t your fault. Since that whole thing with Carolina, we’re all a lot more careful with our information. She’s the one who got into our databases. She’s the one who turned the information over to our competitors. You made a mistake in trusting the wrong person. We all did. It’s time to move on.

I’m not interested, he insisted. I’ve got enough going on with the business. I’ve completely ruled out any type of relationship. Where would I find the time to devote to another person?

Gemma’s sigh was one of impatience. He knew because he often heard it in his direction when they argued about that very subject. Fine, she said, standing. I’m out of here. I’m busy, too, Reid, but I find a little time for a social life.

Have a good night, Reid told her, dismissing her, not wanting to discuss his social life—or lack thereof—any further. Be safe.

You know I will.

Don’t forget, we have a party to prepare for next week, Reid told her. There’s still lots to do. Every year, they threw a party for their employees, industry insiders, and preferred customers. This year, however, they’d decided to go bigger. They’d spent the entire year planning a huge party at a hip beachside rooftop bar in South Beach. They’d shelled out huge cash for one of the country’s most popular DJs, and in addition to their regular guest list, they invited celebrities and members of the press. More Quin and Gemma’s doing, the party wasn’t his kind of scene, but he was hoping to make some serious connections and it would help put Rexford Rum on the map.

"I haven’t forgotten, Dad, she said, rolling her eyes, earning herself a glare from Reid. She raised her hands in surrender. Believe me, no one is forgetting about work, or the party. She kissed him on the cheek. Love you guys. Bye."

Make good choices, Quin called out to her, and that earned him a middle finger over her shoulder as she made her way outside. When she was gone, Quin pointed a finger at him. Speaking of the party, we’ve been meaning to talk to you about this—at least try to look like you’re having fun. You don’t want to be mistaken for one of the bouncers with that serious look you normally have on your face.

Fine, I’ll smile more. Will that make you happy? But sorry, I won’t have time to schmooze with celebrities. Some of us will have to make sure things are running smoothly.

That’s why we hired a very capable event planning company, he told him. Who we’re paying very well to make sure everything is okay. I know it isn’t normally your scene but promise me you’ll have fun. It’s going to be great for us.

Fine, I’ll have fun at the party. I just hope the cost will be worth it to the business.

Quin sighed and poured himself some more rum. It will be. We went through the projections ourselves. With the press coverage and the online buzz we’ve already created...dude, it’s going to be amazing.

Despite his reservations, Reid smiled at his brother. He’d been a hard sell when it came to the party. He thought the it was an egregious expense, one that could put the distillery at risk—not only financially, but its failure could hurt their brand. They had some of the best event planners in Miami working on it, but he wasn’t sure he could put the faith in it like Quin and Gemma did. I hope so. I hate to think we bankrupted the company for an excuse to invite a certain professional wrestler-turned-actor to our party.

Already RSVP’d, Quin said with a wink, reminding Reid that despite his opinion of the event, the Rexford party was looking like the hottest ticket in Miami. He knocked back the remainder of the rum. And on that note, I’m out of here, too.

Yeah?

A friend of mine has Heat tickets. Courtside.

Reid nodded in approval. Nice. Close enough you can yell at the coach again?

If only he’d listen to me. Quin shook his head.

Have fun. Don’t get arrested. We have too much to do in the next couple of days and I don’t have time to bail you out.

You can count on me, bro. They bumped fists, and then Quin was gone as well, leaving Reid alone at the table with a mostly full rum bottle and the bill. Typical, he said to the closed folio, which held the bill. But it didn’t matter to him. What good was money if he couldn’t use it to treat his siblings at their favorite restaurant?

He nodded to the server, who quickly came over to collect his credit card, and she smiled as she leaned over the table, giving him a peek at her ample cleavage. They made eye contact, and she said, Thank you, Mr. Rexford, in a sultry, breathy whisper. He sat back, away from her—his body language putting a barrier between them. She picked up on his cues and straightened, immediately reverting back to being his waitress. He handed her the rum bottle. Can you see that Arlo gets the rest of this?

Of course, I’ll put it in his office.

Thank you.

He watched closely as she walked away. While the waitress was gorgeous, and they would definitely have a great night together, it wouldn’t do. She was his regular server at his favorite restaurant, and even though Reid could barely remember her name, she was much too close to him, and knew exactly who he was. But as his eyes followed the sway of the server’s hips, his attention caught on the cloud of red hair of the woman sitting at the bar.

The curve of the woman’s spine and her smooth skin tempted him, as did the completely open back of her black dress, cut just above what looked to be an ample ass. The woman laughed at something the bartender said. Her laugh was loud and vivacious, and rang out in the quiet, dark space of the restaurant. But neither her volume nor the looks it garnered from the other patrons seemed to embarrass her. He could feel the energy emanating off her, bouncing against the cellar walls, hitting him square in the chest. It sounded stupid, corny, but the small restaurant felt brighter with her in it.

He couldn’t help but watch her as she brought her glass to her lips and sipped. Her eyes closed, and her full lips turned upward in a delicate smile and she said something else to the bartender. She was easily the sexiest woman in the room.

He smiled and stood. Checked his watch. He could go talk to her and still get home early enough to put together a plan for the newest rum. Maybe the night wouldn’t be such a bust, after all.

---

Lila Campbell really liked the small, underground cellar vibe of the restaurant. She’d gotten word that the Cuban restaurant was one of Miami’s best-kept secrets, and the somewhat hard-to-find restaurant hadn’t disappointed. Her dinner had been delicious, and the follow-up cocktail was divine. She was now working on a dessert of in-house-made vanilla bean ice cream drizzled with a thick spiced rum sauce that was so decadent, she’d have to spend extra time at the gym working it off.

Holding her phone above her, she took a picture of herself bringing a spoonful to her mouth. She checked it—definitely cute—and it was good to post. Some people hated selfies, thought they were shallow, but Lila didn’t care. She thought back to when she was younger. Maybe she would have been one of those women who judged others like that, but she knew it would have been her own insecurities at play. Taking a picture that she felt was good enough to post was hard for her, but it